Wednesday, December 27, 2017


     The Three Monkeys see, hear and say nothing but writers? We use all our senses to absorb everything and anything that would add
 to our stories and articles. Traditionally, we have five senses—See. Hear, Taste, Smell, Touch, that stimulate memories and spark our
 ability to compose a piece of non-fiction or tell a tale. Wherever we go a small notebook is tucked in a pocket or purse, another rests on the night-table next to our bed. The notebook at the ready for a description of the leaves you watched flutter and fall as a sharp breeze blew. We all see things differently and objects change with the light. One person may see leaves tremble, another believes the the leaves are dancing their way towards earth. Sometimes when we sleep, dream, walk, wash the dishes or brush our teeth, our brain remains busy gathering fragments of information formed by our senses that lead us to tell our story.
     We hear many sounds that occur at the same time, but how many do we listen too? It’s thought to be one or two at a time. A sound offers delight to one person, concern to another. A skinny limb from a nearby tree falls and startles. Sprightly music on your smart phone lifts your spirit. The crunch of a cucumber refreshes and that leads to the purple tomato, and the thought of its tartness awakens an appetite and you think of the pungent tang of sour pickles, the aroma of rich Colombian coffee.
     The day turns cold and sends shivers racing up and down your bare arm. You rise from the bench and hear a sound—could it be a strange bird you had never heard before—drops of rain wet your face, you look up; the sound comes from a baby squirrel, perched on the skinny limb of an oak tree. You hear the music and but you no longer listen; your concentration is now on the squirrel. Is it hungry, lonely, afraid? The light changes as the sky darkens, you can smell the damp and it begins to drizzle.
     Nerve endings that enable us to feel hot and cold, textures or pain are complex. The rain grows stronger; soon it begins to pour. Your sweater is soaked and you race for the exit, slip into a pool of stagnant water that steeps your sneakers, your socks, your feet in cold, wet, dank liquid and all you think about is standing under a hot shower.   
     Home—you step into the shower stall and under the water’s warmth, you day dream and begin to think of all the sensations that bring the right line, the new facet of a character, the time and place where the story must happen.      


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